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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193545">Not That Bad</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben'>CassieIngaben</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, M/M, Remix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:00:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"We bumped into each other, then you got me a drink."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorian Red Gloria/James, Dorian Red Gloria/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>From Eroica With Love - Groups Challenges</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not That Bad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/gifts">TelWoman</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/838409">Five Lives Dorian Didn't Lead</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/pseuds/TelWoman">TelWoman</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I recently came across TelWoman's wonderful multi-chapter AU "Five Lives Dorian Didn't Lead." In the second chapter, Dorian and James are on a cruise on Volovolonte's yacht. I wondered, "what happened before and after?" and I came up with a variety of scenarios, which together form the branching multiverse <i>Splendour in the Grass</i>. To understand how the various stories relate to each other, and read them in sequence, please refer to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30514749">Splendour in the Grass</a>. </p><p> </p><p>For the eroicaml mailing list 'It's Dorian's birthday' Challenge 2020.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James hated those parties. Full of noise and drunk people, most of which impossibly beautiful and impossibly entitled, or both. He wished there were a better way to conduct his business, but he couldn't afford to snub his prospective clients, especially the not-so-legal ones. He looked balefully at the skewer of assorted fruit decorating his glass, and thought better of drinking the thick and brightly coloured liquid—the glass was camouflage, he had no intention of losing his wits while he was working.</p><p>Intent on his scowling thoughts, he turned, only to collide with someone and spill most of his drink on him. He turned red, and looked up. His breath caught. The man was beyond beautiful: tall, regal, and flamingly homosexual. And he was looking at him with rueful, apologetic blue eyes.</p><p>"Sorry!" They exclaimed at the same time. Then the man smiled, and gestured at his own glass, that had also spilled on him.</p><p>"How about you get me another drink, and I'll forgive you. And maybe you'll forgive me—one lives in hope."</p><p>It had taken James a long time to let go of the shame he'd felt when he'd discovered his leanings; and he still harboured a mixture of awe, envy, and resentment whenever he found someone who seemed to have no problem with it—as it was obviously the case with the beautiful stranger. He blushed.</p><p>"…Dorian. And you?"</p><p>He blinked, incredulously. There was no mistaking what the message was. "Uh. James. I…"</p><p>*</p><p>James wasn't sure how it had happened; it had all been quite swift—Dorian playful but direct, and rather knowledgeable of the layout of the place—specifically, of the guest bedroom they were currently occupying.</p><p>"Mmmh. I always liked the contrast between pale skin and dark eyes" was the last thing Dorian said before putting his mouth to good use. James felt his eyes roll backwards at the unaccustomed pleasure, and bit back a moan, even if nobody could hear them—Dorian had locked the room with a wink, before dragging him towards the bed.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>Not for the first time, James shrugged and gave up on understanding the conundrum that was their relationship. After James's most passionate night—and morning—of his life, Dorian had disappeared. James had quietly mourned, and shoved his feelings into a corner. There was work to do. Then, there had been that day. Head down against the cutting wind, James had barely stepped out of the Stock Exchange that he collided with someone. He looked up, and gasped. Sparkling blue eyes, warm drawling voice.</p><p>"I can't believe we keep bumping into each other. Such a coincidence." Dorian laughed, then pouted prettily. "I bet you've forgotten me. The party at—"</p><p>James shook his head and interrupted quickly: "I haven't forgotten! Of course I haven't!" He blushed.</p><p>Dorian smiled, long eyelashes sweeping down, languid. "I haven't forgotten either. We bumped into each other, then you got me a drink. Maybe you'd like a repeat? The Oriole is just around the corner, they make a divine Martini."</p><p>It turned out that the repeat extended to the whole of the evening. And of the night. And of the morning. James had woken up early, as it was his habit, and contemplated the beauty of the man sleeping next to him, unable to really comprehend what had happened. Why would someone like Dorian want someone like him?</p><p>The repeat had diverged in the morning—Dorian had not disappeared until after breakfast, over which he had claimed his agenda was full and he had to go. He'd taken James's hand, and scrawled his phone number on the back of it. A quick kiss, and he was gone.</p><p>It'd taken James less than two days to call Dorian. He'd stammered through a rehearsed opening, only for the conversation to be carried smoothly by Dorian. James liked to think of the following days as their courtship, albeit a swift one. He'd been surprised at the romantic streak he should have known he had, but hadn't until then. It had come so naturally. So beautiful, so pure. Shame, awkwardness and embarrassment had no power over love.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>James had even begun to dare—dream—hope—that Dorian might be reciprocating his feelings, and started to think how he might find out. He fell back on what he knew worked on business associates, not having any experience with other situations. Relationships, he amended. Dorian accepted James's expensive gifts with unfeigned delight and gratitude, warm eyes and hot nights. James hoped: Dorian hadn't said the words yet, but surely it was only a question of time.</p><p>Then there was The Phone Call. James had awoken unexpectedly, only to find their bed empty. He rolled over—Dorian's side was still warm, and James could hear the shower running. He smiled, hoping that Dorian would wash his hair. He so loved Dorian's hair when it was wet: a heavy mass of dark gold, sweeping over their skins, or dripping all over his body as Dorian covered him and leaned down for a kiss while rubbing passionately against him. Then an idea struck: maybe he could join him in the shower. Every time it had happened, it had been slippery but quite rewarding. James got up and went for the en-suite. Only to faintly hear Dorian's voice in the corridor. Puzzled, James went towards it. Dorian was on the phone, speaking in a low but still audible voice.</p><p>"…Dreary. But I told you: he's rich. And he's not THAT bad in bed." Dorian chuckled prettily. "You say it yourself often enough: rich men are never bad in bed."</p><p>Later on, James was very grateful that there was another way through to his study. He hid under his desk, covering his head with his hands, hearing a soft keening coming from somewhere near him.</p><p>He was even more grateful that nobody found him, and that his study had a French window. As night fell, he slithered out, not really knowing where he was going, except that it had to be away from the house.</p><p>It took Dorian a few days to find him. Which had given James enough time to come to a decision.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>James helped himself to a Coca-Cola can from the cabin's mini-fridge, took off his shoes and sat up on the large bed, leaning his back against the padded headboard—hard to believe they were on a yacht and not at the Hilton. But of course Volovolonte always went for the best and flashiest. James watched intently as Dorian got himself a drink, noting silently that he had switched to soda. He'd had quite a few cocktails when they were on the sun deck with Volovolonte. James almost wished he'd also had a few, to cushion the impact of Volovolonte's offer. Request. Demand.</p><p>Dorian sprawled on an armchair, and contemplated his tonic water, tracing idle patterns with his thumb on the condensation sweating the bottle. James opened his Coke, the ring popping with a loud noise in the silence of the cabin.</p><p>"I want to be clear on what we agreed on—"</p><p>Dorian huffed. "I know what sugaring is, thank you."</p><p>"You would." James snapped despite himself.</p><p>Dorian drank deeply from his bottle, head tilted back to expose his neck, then nodded in agreement. "I would. And if you want to be clear on what we agreed on: I would come back to you, stop pretending I was doing it because I liked it—liked you—and focus on the essentials: you pay me, and I am a good boyfriend."</p><p>Stated baldly like that was a bit too much even for James, and he retorted: "Not that good. I'd rather you be less vapid."</p><p>"Your wish is my command."</p><p>In the deafening silence, Dorian got up and went to the bar again; he poured what was left of his tonic water into a tall glass, and added a generous splash of gin. Without turning, he spat: "Out with it. What do you want that you can't bring yourself to ask?"</p><p>James took a deep breath. "Volovolonte said he's invited a friend of his over from New York. It's important that we treat him well. Be friendly. Very friendly."</p><p>Dorian shrugged, downed his gin and tonic in one go, and set the glass on the bar. "It will cost you extra."</p><p>"If we don't, Volovolonte will get upset. Which is not a situation we want to be in."</p><p>"We?"</p><p>"I'm to work for Volovolonte's friend."</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>James had long since stopped slinking into the bathroom to cry after he thought Dorian was asleep; he wouldn't do it now that Dorian was probably asleep in Lupinacci's bed. And yet. There was a limit to the lies he was able to tell himself—that he'd been telling himself since drawing their contract. That a good pretence was almost as good as the real thing. Maybe even better, since it gave him power and control—inside and outside the bedroom. He thrived on power and control when it came to work, why shouldn't it be the same in everything else? Yes, the way he'd learned of Dorian's true motivations had been traumatic; and he had really been angry at letting himself be duped. Angry at himself more than at Dorian; he understood the necessity of doing unsavoury things to earn one's living. And wasn’t it better now to have it all in the open? An honest transaction between adults. Not having to give everything up because of some stupid, adolescent notion. He thought he'd given up all the notions he had to, way before meeting Dorian. And he had. Their arrangement worked. He just had to get used to it. Recalibrate. Adjust to a relationship—an agreement—stripped of all pretence.</p><p>He turned over and over in the bed, vainly trying to find a comfortable position. He'd not noticed the bed was as uncomfortable, before. When he'd lain there with Dorian. He looked on helplessly as his vision started to blur, his face went hot and stiff, and it became difficult to breathe. In the middle of the storm inside him, he railed with anger. What was his problem? He'd never stipulated fidelity—not in so many words—and it wasn't even infidelity, really. Dorian was doing it to save their skin. It's not cheating if you both know about it, and are ok with it. And he was.</p><p>*</p><p>Dorian turned his head away from the hefty body sleeping beside him, and wished for sleep to claim him, too. No such luck. And yet it should've been easy to slip into a sated slumber, as he was quite wrung out: Lupinacci had been unexpectedly good. Extremely good, in fact. A stray thought passed through his head: what stopped him from switching allegiances? Lupinacci could easily match Dorian's current keep. And what could James do? Lupinacci was a very dangerous man. Which was exciting, actually. Dorian shivered.</p><p>And yet. It felt distasteful: a bitter taste in his mouth. Dorian snorted. As if his job were tasteful. As if a bitter taste in his mouth would be anything remarkable. But maybe it was his sense of self-preservation trying to reassert itself: anyone in his profession learned to discern which Daddy would boot him out when he tired of him, and which one would have him floating face down in the Thames. The Hudson. Whatever.</p><p>*</p><p>The worst part was the meals they had to have together. Looking on, knowing that Dorian was playing perfect boyfriend over the table, and yet he'd go to Lupinacci's cabin each night. And it was a perfect impression. Just like the one Dorian'd given him Before. Would have kept giving him, had not fate intervened.</p><p>James supposed he should be grateful breakfast was buffet, which required little effort to dodge Lupinacci first thing in the morning. And Dorian. James's unease was shading into fear each day more. It was supposed to be a one-off. Or was it? They hadn't said as much. He'd assumed. But surely Lupinacci would tire easily—he had everything. Any toy he wanted. Everyone he could buy. But what if—James's mind baulked at the direction his fears were taking him, yet it could not help returning to it. What if Lupinacci wanted to keep his toy? What could stop him? What could prevent him from taking Dorian with him to New York? Or even worse, taking both of them to New York, so that James would have to look on, chained to his desk while Lupinacci had fun with his new toy? And what then, if—when—Lupinacci got tired of the game?</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>James looked at the cascade of bright curls draped over Dorian's shoulders and back, and said nothing. They were not saying very much these days; when they happened to cross each other in the cabin, they went about their business quietly, not hurrying but not dawdling, trying not to look at each other while giving the appearance of not doing so. Usually, that entailed giving their back to each other—like just now. James sat at his desk, trying to be absorbed in his papers, and Dorian was toying with the straw hat he was holding in his hands, checking for snags in the weaving. Without turning, he lowered the hat and said, almost casually: "Lupinacci asked me to go to New York with him."</p><p>James put his pen down, staring at it. After a while, he spoke. "What did you say?"</p><p>Dorian exhaled. "I said yes."</p><p>"I see." James turned his eyes towards the sparkling, rippled surface of the water framed in the porthole. "Well. You'll need to pack. I'll leave you to it."</p><p>Mechanically, James stood up, went to the door and left, closing it very carefully behind him. Dorian let his hat fall to the floor, and stared at it for a long time.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>James had just decided to finish the estimate he was working on and then call it a day, when the doorbell rang. He looked at his watch and frowned, then he went to the door. Standing there, looking tired and slightly dishevelled, stood Dorian.</p><p>James opened his mouth, and then closed it again.</p><p>"May I come in? Please?"</p><p>James moved aside; Dorian picked up his travel bag, and walked in. He looked uncertainly at the sofa, then sat down, dropping the bag at his feet.</p><p>Still unspeaking, James sat on the armchair opposite, and looked searchingly at Dorian's face—only to lean closer with a frown. He pointed at a ridged scar on Dorian's temple, just below the hairline.</p><p>"What happened?"</p><p>Dorian self-consciously raised his hand to the scar, then mimicked a deprecating smile. "I told him not in the face, but he didn't listen."</p><p>James blanched. "Did you run away? Are you in danger?"</p><p>"I didn’t run. He kicked me out—literally. His parting words were 'good riddance, you Limey fag'. No, I don't think I'm in any danger from him."</p><p>" So, now you're unemployed. Is that why you're back?"</p><p>Dorian hesitated. "I—well—"</p><p>"Why should I take back damaged goods?"</p><p>Dorian pressed his lips together, and lowered his head. "Quite. Well, I'm going now." He stood up, trying to hide how his eyes were welling up. "I'm sorry. I'm quite—exhausted. Long flight."</p><p>"Where."</p><p>"Sorry?"</p><p>"Where are you going?"</p><p>Dorian looked around him vaguely. "Somewhere. I'll find a place. Sorry; this was a stupid idea. I should have gone directly to a hotel."</p><p>"You came here straight from the airport?"</p><p>Dorian nodded.</p><p>James sighed tiredly. "You can sleep on the sofa; find yourself a place tomorrow. I'll get you some bedding."</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>James padded to the kitchen corner, and made coffee. Curled on the slightly-too small sofa, Dorian slept on through the coffee machine noise. Never a morning person at the best of times, and now jet lagged, he failed to stir even when the coffee smell invaded the living room. James went towards the sofa, and sat on the coffee table, two mugs in hand. In the grey light of morning, the ugly scar at Dorian's temple stood out; he'd lost weight and there were a few fine lines at the corners of his eyes. </p><p>James shook Dorian's shoulder lightly, until a groan emerged from the tangle of hair and bedding.</p><p>"No. Please. No, I don't want to—" Dorian's eyes flew open and he stopped his mumblings abruptly.</p><p>"I made coffee." James held out one of the mugs, and Dorian took it with uncertain hands and a tentative smile, which switched off almost immediately.</p><p>"What's the time? I think I overslept."</p><p>"I always wake up at the same time. Dawn o'clock, as you used to say."</p><p>Dorian looked down at his mug. They drank their coffee in silence.</p><p>"Well. I'll be on my way now. Only—could I please take a shower first?"</p><p>James shrugged and got up, heading towards his room. "You know where the bathroom is."</p><p>When Dorian emerged from the bathroom, James was nowhere to be found, and a set of clean undergarments was laid out on the sofa. Dorian sat down, and fingered the practical cotton fabric. Eventually, he rummaged in his travel bag for fresh clothes and got dressed. He towelled off the worst of the water in his hair, took out a wide-toothed comb and braced himself.</p><p>Finally presentable, Dorian stuffed his things in the bag and folded the bedding. He was already at the door when James reappeared, looking at Dorian unreadably.</p><p>Dorian gestured at the door. "Uhm. I'm off. Thank you—for everything."</p><p>"Do you have any money?"</p><p>Dorian's cheeks coloured. "It's all in New York. Was. Lupinacci will have wiped my account by now. When I left, I had no time—"</p><p>James took out a cheque book. Dorian went fiery red, and shook his head. "No. I'm ok, really. I'll be fine. I can find—"</p><p>James's expression went from slightly surprised to weary. "No strings attached. You can give it back when you're set up."</p><p>Dorian looked uncertain. "I don't know when—"</p><p>James finished writing the cheque, and held it out with an air of finality. "Just take it, will you."</p><p>Dorian hesitated, then nodded once. He took the cheque and left.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This work is part of my branching multiverse <i>Splendour in the Grass</i>. To understand how the various stories relate to each other, and read them in sequence, please refer to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30514749">Splendour in the Grass</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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